


Keep it Undercover (Find Me in the Shadows)

by jormaperalta



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Homesickness, Unrequited Love, mafia stuff, some blood and allusions to a beating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6723028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jormaperalta/pseuds/jormaperalta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jake saw the members of his precinct while undercover, and one time he wished he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep it Undercover (Find Me in the Shadows)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is back when Jake was undercover in the Iannucci crime family. I have never been undercover or affiliated with the mob, so I have no idea if this is accurate. But hopefully it’s interesting. Thanks for reading!

_Seeing Charles (Three Weeks In)_

Jake is sitting at a giant booth in a fancy-ass restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen when he sees Charles Boyle walk in, wearing a grey suit with a salmon shirt underneath (good to know that Charles’s style hasn’t changed since Jake has been gone.)

Jake’s sitting with the head of the family, Leo Iannucci, but not alone. He’s surrounded by the rest of the family, and his job is to stand guard (well, sit guard at the edge), but at least he’s close enough to hear all the important things they’re talking about. It’s the closest he’s gotten to Leo Senior, and he won’t fuck this up. Not just because his best friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a month is there, right across the restaurant.

Boyle is on a date it seems, and he’s talking with the girl and getting her chair out for her. To Jake’s sheer pride and surprise, it seems to be going well.

He hopes Charles doesn’t see him. He doesn’t trust Charles’s puppy-like excitableness to keep his cool.

As the Iannuccis discuss business in thinly-veiled code in case there’s a wire or a rat nearby (he is certainly not wearing a wire. And he’s _certainly_ not a rat), Jake half-scans the room for safety but mostly just watches Charles interact with a woman who is at least a 7 out of 10, good for him.

Unfortunately, it looks like the date doesn’t go well, because the lady leaves before the check is there. _Ah buddy_ , Jake thinks with a sigh.

He watches Charles pay for it with a smile on his face, and get his coat. Just as Charles goes to leave, he looks Jake right in the eye and nods once, subtly but surely.

That couldn’t have been a mistake... right?

Jake then smirks to himself. Score one for Charles.

+x+

_Seeing Gina (Two Months In)_

Jake is helping Cinzia (Leo Iannucci’s niece) shop at some weird expensive spiritual store in Manhattan because he was the only one even slightly willing to go (just to get away from the damn family for an hour). It may be a test, but he’s not sure. But he decides it might have been a mistake when he sees Gina Linetti walk in, awwing at a giant blanket of a wolf surrounded by galaxy print hanging up near the front.

Shit.

Gina isn’t supposed to know that Jake is undercover, because she’s (against his wishes) inessential personnel.

“Jakey!!” Cinzia’s nasally voice drags him back to her attention, “Should I get the cobalt dress, or the blood orange one?” She holds up 2 dresses that are exactly the same, except in color. They’re both ridiculously short and slinky-like and look like prom dresses the stars of the _Jersey Shore_ would wear. He resists the urge make a face.

He’s about to half-ass an answer when he’s tapped on the shoulder.

“Excuse me there, kiddos,” She says, her voice not normally this nasally or high-pitched. “Do you know where I can get more blankets like that one?” She points to the wolf blanket, and it clicks for Jake. Of course Gina has figured it out, and now playing along. “Like do you have more in the back-”

“We don’t work here,” Cinzia says obviously.

Gina cocks her head and makes a face. Emphatically, she says, “Oh I’m _sorry_. With those fake-tans, I’d just assumed-”

“Hey, watch it,” Jake says, outrageously in character, “Don’t you be talkin’ to Cinzia that way.”

Gina makes an apologetic face that he can tell is sarcastic. “Sorry to interfere with your date there, peeps. Crying cat face.”

Jake has to force his mouth to keep from smiling (he misses her so much) as Cinzia snorts, “No way am I datin’ Jakey Lady Hands.”

Jake gasps, affronted, “I am Jakey the Jew!”

“Pardon me and my energy then.” Gina says while gesturing to herself, then her eyes flicker up at Jake, then she turns away from them. “I will take my galaxy wolf requests elsewhere.” And then she’s gone.

Jake bites back a sigh and turns back as Cinzia goes for the “blood orange” dress and snickers to herself, “What a weirdo, right, Jakey?”

“Yeah... right.”

+x+

_Seeing Terry (Two Months, Two Weeks In)_

Jake doesn’t go to the gym. Ever. He coasts by on his insanely fast metabolism and quick instincts and devastating charm. But, apparently for the Iannuccis, you need to “be muscular” and “stop eating cannolis all the damn time”.

“I hate this so much,” He says to nobody in particular as he finishes another rep of bicep curls.

“Don’t worry, Jakey, we have much bigger plans,” Johnny says from the nearby bench, barely breaking a sweat while Marco spots him.

“Bigger than my biceps you mean?” Jake goes to flex but then that hurts his arms _ow_.

Marco rolls his eyes then leans down closer, and suddenly they’re in a huddle. “This is a huge-ass gym, and they have connections to an underground boxing ring.”

Johnny continues, “That we want to take over and start fixing games...” Jake is paying attention, at first, but then he sees Terry walk out of the locker room and he almost grins without abandon.

But he’s an undercover cop in the mafia. He has to have a shit ton of abandon. Or something.

He keeps it cool as he listens to them spout their plans, taking everything in a mental notebook to tell Agent Clarke, his handler, when they have a meet-up.

He also watches Terry workout in a way he hopes is neither creepy or presumably gay, since the Iannuccis are homophobes. Back when Jake first came to the 9-9, Terry used to make him join him at the gym. But Jake of course could not keep up. So that was quickly abandoned, but he’s always associated Terry working out with himself being a green detective. And Jake suddenly finds himself sad. He misses the precinct and his detectives so bad.

The Iannuccis next to him are wrapping up their planning and workout and Jake forces himself to be more active in the conversation.

As they leave the gym, Jake makes sure to walk past Terry, who's just as muscular as Jake remembers and that makes him oddly feel better.

And then Terry gives him the nod. The “I'm a tough guy working out giving a casual nod” nod. But there's also something more. It's also a “You got this” nod.

Maybe he's reading into the nod a bit too much and maybe he's going slightly nuts undercover without contact from anyone in his life. But that's okay.

Because he _gots_ this.

+x+

_Seeing Rosa (Four Months, Two Weeks In)_

Jake is playing billiards against Frankie Iannucci, Leo’s middle son, and losing epically (not intentional but useful) when he looks up and sees Rosa Diaz enter the same bar. This is a seedy place, so he knows this is just a coincidence, but his heart still drops into the pit of his stomach with sheer relief and fear. He knows she won’t reveal his cover, but he’s afraid _he_ will. He’s been so goddamn lonely during this operation-

“Have a crush there, Jakey?” Frankie asks lewdly. Damn it, he was obvious looking over at her. “Didn’t expect you to be into Spics.” Right after making that slur, he leans around to check out Rosa’s ass as she leans on the bar to get the bartender’s attention.

Jake, instinctively, clutches the pool stick a bit tighter in his grasp, then loosens it. He chuckles and plays the part, “I like ‘em spicy, what do I say?”

“You ain’t got enough moves to get half of that girl,” Johnny laughs, downing his beer.

Jake’s competitive streak gets the best of him, so he says, “Just need to get the right half, am I right, fellas?”  _What does that even mean?_

“Let’s see you do it then,” Frankie says, straightening up. Frankie can’t resist a bet, he’s a _huge_ gambler, in and out of the casino.

“Fine then,” Jake gulps down the rest of his beer. “I will.”

Shit, he’s an idiot.

He walks over to Rosa, and taps her on the shoulder. Her automatic glare softens when she sees him, then hardens again. “Can I help you?” She asks blandly.

Unsure of whether or not the crime family can hear him, he decides to just play it as stupid as possible.

He leans his elbow on the counter, even though it’s slightly too far away for that to be a good idea. “Hey there, Spice Girl.” _What the fuck, Jake?_ “You can help me by giving me yo’ number.”

Rosa is confused for a second, but he can soon see recognition flicker in her eyes. “Not fucking likely. Leave me alone.”

“C’mon, you know you look so fine-” And then _bam!_ Rosa’s palm smacks into his face. He knows it’s an act, even though it certainly doesn’t feel like it, because he likes to think that he knows Rosa somewhat decently. If he really were some douchey creep hitting on her, she would have have broken his face into the bar counter, not just slapped him.

Frankie, Johnny and the others are all laughing at him as he comes back, left cheek stinging like a bitch.

“You got no moves, Peralta!” They crow that and similar phrases. He shrugs and takes it in stride, trying not to look over at the person he went through the Academy with.

“Guess not.”

+x+

_Seeing Holt (Five Months, Three Weeks In)_

After getting a message from his handler to meet at some greasy spoon, Jake is anxious that it’s Clarke waiting to break the news in person that they want him to stay undercover longer. He’s tired of being Jakey the Jew ( _never_ Lady Hands) and Jake Peralta, Dirty Ex-Cop.

To his surprise, it’s the exact opposite. After he informs him that Angie and Marco’s wedding would definitely have most of the Iannucci crime family in attendance, Clarke tells him that all he has to do is drop the signal (“dry meatballs”? Is the FBI kidding?) and they’ll storm the ceremony.

As he leaves, he thinks he sees a surprisingly stoic, older black man hidden behind an opened newspaper. He almost thinks it’s Holt, but Holt wouldn’t be caught dead in that kind of diner, especially not for him.

Two weeks after the greasy spoon meet-up, Jake is schmoozing with the members of the family. Dancing and giving toasts and getting kissed by a lot of old Italian men (they’re all different levels of homophobic, but they seem way too happy to kiss him). It’d be fun if all of them weren’t terrible people.

He has to give Tony the important info drop and that’s when he decides to say the signal. But he has to do it at the right moment... Eh, fuck it. He needs to do this now.

Jake sighs romantically, surrounded by men he just kissed. “What a wedding, huh? Although the meatballs were a little dry.”

He only has to wait five beats before the place is flooded with cops, and he locks eyes with Terry, who enjoys manhandling him a little too much (but he certainly missed being in his arms so he doesn't fight as much as he maybe should).

“No one say a word!” Jake’s screaming to the scrambling mass of Italian-Americans, and Terry places him in the nearby truck. “Get your hands off of me you piece of-” He says in his mob-voice then turns to Captain Holt, standing as rigid as always.

“Hey! Captain Holt! Long time no see, how you doing?” Jake greets cheerfully, so happy for this to all be over. He just wants everything to go back to normal.

Holt has no cheer on his face, just professionalism. “This is not the time, Peralta-”

Jake just grins. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” Inhaling the immediately familiar stench of cop vans mixed with Holt, Jake forces the Captain into a bear hug. Even though he says it like a joke, he means it completely serious when he says, “I’ve missed us.”

And he knows the Captain understands.

+x+

_Wishing for Amy (Two Days In)_

Jake has never been in so much pain. He googled “mafia initiation” while in the bathroom of the bar right before he made his first contact with Johnny Iannucci (the son of Leo), and the Wikipedia article said it’s just a prick of blood and a business card on fire or something to that effect. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

He’s alone in an empty drug warehouse that smells like weed and cat piss, but he can’t bring himself to move yet. His body burns with even the idea of movement.

He takes a mental catalogue of his injuries: there’s a cut at his eyebrow that’s trickling blood down his face, at least one of his ribs is broken, his body in general is covered in bruises and his shoulder is bleeding from where he got sliced by a capo named Benny.

Leo’s gratey voice still echoes in his ears, “ _Wanted to see if you bled blue still,_ "And it's punctuated with a sadistic chuckle, “ _If you’re still in, Jakey, then you better meet us here tomorrow at sunrise, got it?"_

He vaguely remembers nodding before they all just left him there. He might as well just stay here then.

But then the smell of cat piss wins.

Exhaling sharply and then wincing, he maneuvers himself so he’s not lying on his stomach and it takes more of his energy than normal.

Exhausted, mentally and physically, his mind drifts to thoughts of Amy Santiago and how much he already misses her. The way she smells sharp, clean and soft at the same time. The way she gives him a reproachful look then smiles to herself when he does something stupid or silly or both. The way she can kick a perp’s ass and save his life then on a turn of a dime, stutter over awkward moments and kiss Holt’s ass like the teacher’s pet he knows she was. And still is.

Thinking of her and wanting her to think of him as a hero if she were here, he pushes himself up so he’s standing, even though his body wants to collapse. When he watched mafia movies growing up, he didn’t think this stuff would be as shitty as it was to experience.

He looks at the slice. He’s no doctor, but they didn’t hit any arteries. He also doesn’t watch medical dramas like Terry does (“Terry _loves_ Cristina Yang”) but he’s fairly sure he’d be spurting blood if an artery was hit.

He takes off his shirt and holds it against the wound, knowing pressure is good for it. It hurts like a bitch and he kind of wants to cry, but instead he just shuffles his way to his car. The car that he took Santiago on a date on, and is now being used to drive himself home to take some pain relievers and cleans his cuts because God knows where that knife has been.

Sunrise.

Just got to make it until sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this! It's my first Brooklyn 99 fic, so if you have any suggestions or helpful critiques, I'd be happy to read them. ALSO: This was under another title earlier, but I changed it because it was too long.


End file.
